


Digging graves (never ends well)

by Fluffy_Lama



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alpha!Theseus, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst, Don't copy to another site, Multi, Omega!Percival, One-Sided Relationship, Sibling Incest, Suspense, Unrequited Love, omega!newt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-14 19:28:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29176449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fluffy_Lama/pseuds/Fluffy_Lama
Summary: Percival was not expecting to see Theseus on his doorstep.
Relationships: Leta Lestrange/Theseus Scamander, Newt Scamander/Theseus Scamander, Original Percival Graves/Theseus Scamander
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9





	Digging graves (never ends well)

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like there should be a pun somewhere in the title. For better or worse, there isn’t.

“Percival fuckin’ Graves!” comes a shout from behind the bar and Percival smiles tightly.

“Long time no see, Fancy.”

“Phah, what’s it been, twelve years, give or take? Too short with ya, that’s what I say. What brought ya s’ low, hah?” Fancy, an aging beta, wiggles his bushy brows knowingly and adds, “An’ who’s yar friend?”

There’s no way Fancy doesn’t recognize the British Head Auror, but introductions mean more than knowledge at a place like this. The air is thick with smoke, both cigarette and of some spell that makes vague silhouettes out of patrons at old greasy tables. It’s not a nice bar, it’s definitely not a nice crowd. Percival abruptly nods at Theseus and says, “Thess, meet Fancy, the slimiest fucker this side of La Manche. Fancy, that’s Thess.”

“Well, well, well. Hullo, Thess. What can I get ya?” Fancy drawls. He accepts that they’re not here on official business, at least for now. But he doesn’t ask how he can help, so he’s still cautious. Might even pretend he’s just a regular barmen if he doesn’t like anything, be it a wrong word or tone.

“We need info”, grinds Theseus. He’s been strung tight for the last two days. Completely understandable, but inconvenient nonetheless. Percival shouldn’t let him spook Fancy.

He quickly intervenes with a smooth, “And two Ogdens. Ogdens first.”

Fancy’s fast. Two full glasses appear instantly, as if served by a house elf. Theseus only takes his after a warning gaze from Percival. He doesn’t drink, only fiddles with the glass. Percival downes his in one lond gulp and slides twenty galeons across to Fancy’s spider-like hands. It’s way more than two shots of a crappy whiskey’s worth, but that’s not what Percival’s paying for. He waits to see if Fancy takes the money. It won’t be a guarantee that he knows anything or even answers at all, but it’s a way in. If Fancy agrees to do business with them, even if he can’t or won’t help himself, he’ll spread the word. It’ll take precious time, but there will be someone willing to assist.

Long fingers make money disappear as fast as the whiskey materialised a minute ago. Percival straightens his spine. Now comes the real talk.

“Any interesting rumors these days?” he asks easily, as if not waiting for a very particular reply. There is a reason Percival brought Theseus with him to this underground, half-legal hole of a bar in France. With him present, Percival doesn’t need to point exactly what they came here for.

It is also dangerous to leave Theseus alone right now, but Percival tries to avoid even thinking that. Under normal circumstances Theseus is decent and doesn’t use Legillimency on people he works with, but the situation is dire. Percival wouldn’t put it past Theseus to read his mind today, accidentally or not. And who knows what a desperate alpha can do if he senses anything off in his partner.

Fancy furrows his spectacular brows in a pretence of going through his memories. Thankfully he doesn’t draw it out. He obviously noticed Theseus’s state and doesn’t take the risk of upsetting a powerful alpha on the brink of losing his patience.

“I heard one silly rumor, y’know. Somethin’ ‘bout an omega kidnappin’. You’d think we’re still livin’ in the Middle Ages with things like that happenin’. Ol’ habits die hard, I guess.”

Percival squeezes Theseus’s elbow, hard. He manages to stop any words that were about to leave his partner’s mouth, but only barely.

Fancy shrugs. Spindly shoulders move spasmatically under an old brown jacket. Long fingers polish a glass with a well-used piece of cloth. “Anyway, got no address. S’just a rumor, yeah?”

“Probably. We are a civilized society, afterall”, Percival agrees. He never mentions that the so called rumor has been all over the recent papers. “Thank you for the drinks.”

“Don’t come for ‘nother decade, at least.” There’s mirth in Fancy’s eyes following them to the exit. Percival smirks over his shoulder and makes no promises.

Theseus looks ready to kill. Fortunately he decides that there are at least five too many witnesses in the bar, so he allows Percival to take him out to the muddy street of non-maj Paris. As soon as they’re alone, though, Theseus growls.

“Explain. Now.”

Words come from deep inside his chest, a low rumble of fury reigned in with iron-clad control. Percival sighs internally. Any other day Theseus would be rational, would lead the investigation instead of hindering it. Any other day it’s a pleasure and privilege to work with him. They catch like a forest on fire.

Any other day, but not on the second day of Newton’s kidnapping.

“It’s futile to fish for a name. Fancy either doesn’t know or wouldn’t tell. He already said enough. _We’re still living in the Middle Ages_?” Percival quotes. “And _old habits_? Think. Why would he mention that?”

Percival himself knows, of course. He wants Theseus to get it without help, to be back on track and thinking only of the investigation.

Not of what it’s going to lead to. Not yet, not until it’s unavoidable.

“ _We_. _Old habits_.” Theseus speaks reluctantly, forcing himself to analyze the subtle hints through sheer force of unbreakable will. Percival can’t help but admire the stubborn set of broad shoulders and the determined look on his handsome face. “He implied that the scumbag is here, in France. That’s why I couldn’t find any leads in Spain or at home. And they adhere to the old traditions. We need to find an alpha in the local pureblood circles that has a recently presented alpha-child without a betrothal already in place.”

“See? You can do it.”

“Not without you.” Theseus smiles grimly and shakes his head as if he tries to get rid of the hormonal haze that overtakes any alpha whose omega was taken. “How did you know to go straight to France?”

“I didn’t.” Percival shrugs. It’s a cold June in Paris, unusually so. A shiver runs down his spine under Theseus’s scrutinising gaze. Percival would rather stay home in California if Theseus wasn’t so important to him. If _this_ wasn’t so important. There’s too much at stake. Percival can’t afford any missteps, so he continues evenly, “I did know that talking to Fancy is always useful, one way or another.”

The explanation satisfies Theseus. His eyes are sharp with a desperate attempt to focus on the task and not the result when he says, “Let’s go. I know who to ask.”

Theseus takes hold of Percival’s shoulder to apparate. The earth slips from under Percival’s feet at the contact, well before the spell flares to life. But that’s nothing new. And certainly not something to dwell on when Percival is helping the alpha he loves with searching for the omega _he_ loves. Maybe later, when this ordeal is over.

***

Percival was not expecting to see Theseus on his doorstep.

Of course, even though only seven hours passed, the news had already hit the papers. Newton Scamander, snatched off the dragon conference in Spain the previous evening, right from under the security’s noses. A scandal, albeit a minor one. Omegas went missing all the time, even in countries like America where they were free to pursue a career and choose their partner themselves. In the old world that was so hung up on their ancient traditions? Aristocratic standing was definitely not a solid protection. As it turned out, even fighting tooth and nail and having an alpha-brother with a respected position in the law enforcement was not enough.

There were a lot of witnesses to the abduction. Only a couple tried to help, and it didn’t make any difference.

But what did it have to do with a former head of DMLE in MACUSA? Percival had been retired for five years then, since the Grindelwald catastrophe. His connections waisted away in the aftermath of a crushing defeat that ended his career for good. His knowledge of the underground dealings was outdated, his reputation lying in pieces Percival didn’t bother to pick up. He could be of no use to the British Head Auror. And yet Theseus was there, in a cloak of his heady, dark smell. Dry firewood and old leather laced with something Percival couldn’t put a name to. It spoke of a furious alpha. Percival should have been scared. Any omega would be, no matter how competent with magic. Alpha pheromones tended to take away the fight out of all betas and omegas who weren’t on the suppressant, a very illegal potion in the whole fucking world.

Of course, Percival was taking it anyway. He could breathe Theseus’s smell in full and keep his head clear. Or as clear as his old feelings would allow.

“Theseus?”, he asked, perplexed and sympathetic. “Come in.”

It was so easy to invite him, let his smell and presence fill the small house on a faraway beach, isolated from civilization. Thin walls were vibrating with protection spells. Theseus noticed, spared a quick appreciative glance and turned his undivided attention to Percival. Standing there, under fierce, desperate gaze, was one of the most difficult things Percival had ever had to do. The instinct was demanding he took cover, while Percival knew for certain that any sign of a weakness would make Theseus reconsider. And there was no telling what would happen if Theseus walked out Percival’s door that day.

“I can’t think straight. I’m too close to lead the search myself.” Theseus’s admission tasted bitter in the hot and humid air. “I need your help, Percival.”

Theseus spoke softly, clearly trying to make it as far from a command as he could. This - this understanding and respect that Theseus always showed towards omegas - was the first thing that made Percival notice him. For some time he’d thought that was a result of Theseus having an omega brother. Working together on a couple occasions revealed that it was purely the way Theseus was wired. He was honest when he could be and cunning when he needed to be. He was powerful, easily able to bend people to his will, omegas and betas alike. Probably some alphas, too. Yet he chose not to do it unless absolutely necessary. He was just, perceptive and, to Percival’s despair, taken.

Theseus’s only fault was that he was taken not with his fiancee, but with someone else. It was evident to Percival from the first time he saw Theseus and Leta Lestrange together in the flesh. That was the only reason Percival did what he did.

He tried to break them up - only to find out that the other person was no other then Theseus’s own little brother.

Leta knew. She was the one who Percival learned the secret from in an attempt to temper with their relationship. That day he learned that he would never stand a chance. So Percival erased her memories of their encounter and backed off. No plot, no matter how intricate, was going to succeed against a person who was able to tame Theseus inspite of a close blood relation.

Percival was disgusted, just a bit, but mostly crushed. He resolved to stay colleagues, acquaintances, maybe friends if he was lucky and overcame his feelings. Before the latter could happen, Grindelwald crashed into his life, and everything went to shit. Afterwards Percival retired and only exchanged a couple of letters with Theseus, all regarding Newton and his American escapade. That was it. He thought that was the end to everything.

“Why are you here?” Percival asked. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to help however I can. But there are a lot of people who could do it more effectively than me. Your subordinates, for that matter.”

“Because helping me would mean learning everything. I don’t want anybody to know that Newt is my omega. And you already do”, came a simple reply.

Percival’s breath hitched, and not because of the tantalising smell of dry firewood and leather. Theseus was looking straight in his eyes when he said those damning words. Words that warranted a memory spell strong enough to render people incapable… or a Killing Curse.

“How?”

Any other words would not leave Percival’s mouth.

“As soon as Leta realised she was missing three full hours in her day, she immediately came to me. I broke your Obliviate long ago. I know that you read her mind. And why.”

“So why am I alive?”

Percival wanted to know. He was far from hoping for… anything, at that point. But let it never be said that he wasn’t curious.

Theseus’s face took a wistful expression. “You should be grateful to Leta. She convinced me to act only if you tried to blackmail me or Newt. You may not have noticed, but she was able to read your mind in turn when she tried to defend herself. Because of what she saw, she decided to trust you even after everything you’ve done.”

“I’m sorry about what happened to her.”

Theseus didn’t acknowledge his condolences. Instead, he said, “I’ve exhausted all my resources. Nobody knows anything. It was not someone from Britain or Spain, and it wasn’t Grindelwald. That’s all I learned. I personally alerted all European Head Aurors and the majority from the rest of the world. But you know how these cases are treated by most.”

Unfortunately, Percival knew all too well. Some Head Aurors didn’t think a domestic affair like that was important. Some considered kidnapping a legitimate way of acquiring a mate. They wouldn’t intervene unless a previous betrothal was broken. Some deemed such cases hopeless in nature. That kind wouldn’t bother even for the sake of getting Theseus’s favor. The Head Aurors that would apply themselves were exceedingly rare. Percival could count twenty at most - among two hundred countries. What were the chances of Newton ending up in one of their jurisdictions?

And that’s if Newton had any chance at all.

Omegas were only prized if they were virgin, or at the very least unmarked. If the bond between Theseus and Newton was sealed, Newton was dead.

“I know that Newton is your mate. I don’t know if he bears your mark”, Percival said as neutrally as he could.

“He does.”

And it had already been more than seven hours. Plenty of time to realise the goods were damaged.

Any other omega would turn up somewhere by this point, most likely alive, but without memories. Their abductor would remain anonymous. Should aurors be persistent and succeed in catching him, he would probably pay his way out of any trouble. But with the brother of a Head Auror who was known for his principles among other things? The culprit would know that there would be hell to pay. He wouldn’t be able to keep Newton, and he wouldn’t take a risk of letting him go. He’d kill his victim and get rid of the body so it would never be found.

Ninety-nine out of a hundred, they were on a quest for revenge, not on a rescue mission.

There was only a slightest chance that Newton would be crafty enough to escape or at least stall his abductor long enough to get rescued.

“I know what you’re thinking.” Hopelessness rolled off Theseus in suffocating waves. He still held his head high, and his voice never wavered when he spoke, “But even if I am to find a body, I need to make sure.”

“Then let’s not waste time”, was all Percival said. “We’re starting from France.”

***

Lord Lestrange looks down on the both of them. His greeting words come out clipped, scathing in their disdain. Percival is used to this kind of attitude after losing to Grindelwald. And yet it stings deep to not be treated with proper respect. Years of work to get it - all wasted in a blink of a spell.

Theseus on the other hand doesn’t seem to be bothered in the slightest. He’s probably used to dealing with the man who almost became his father-in-law. What Percival doesn’t know is why Theseus decided to waste time and come to lord Lestrange for help. Percival knows there’s bad blood between those two.

What is even stranger, that’s not an empty bet. Lord Lestrange listens to the question and deigns them with an answer.

“You would find lord Dubois quite to your liking”. An unpleasant smile curls thin aristocratic lips with a cruel twist. “He’s as much of an unreasonable gambler as you are.”

It’s a weird comparison. Theseus has never been a gambler. He’s a careful and meticulous planner - well, as long as it’s not about his brother. His omega. But the information is appreciated anyway. Theseus memorizes the coordinates, nods curtly and leaves without saying goodbye. Percival follows, hot on his heels.

When they apparate again, to the steps of lord Dubois’s summer cottage, Percival touches Theseus’s hand and asks, “Are you sure?”

He means _are you sure he told the truth?_ He means _are you sure we should just go in without backup and local officials?_ He means _are you sure I shouldn’t do this part alone?_

Percival thinks he knows the answer to the first, even though he doesn’t know the reasons behind lord Lestrange’s honesty. And he sure as hell knows that getting French aurors on board will only eat up priceless time. It’s better to deal with the consequences after it’s over.

What Percival’s truly interested in, is the last implication of his question.

“Shields up.”

Theseus stays firm. His eyes burn fervently, coloured like molten chocolate in determination. His tone books no argument, and Percival falls in line behind him. He’d prefer to do this by himself, but no such luck. Better get it over with, then.

They put an anti-apparition and owl-repelling barriers up, block the fireplace connection and knock. A house elf in a crisp white towel immediately opens a well-warded door. His eyes are big. He sensed hostile magic and is ready to defend the house, but they don’t attack. Yet.

“I need to see your master. Now. Theseus Scamander.”

Theseul looks business-like, collected and efficient. No trace of doubt or desperation. Only pure resolve. It’s like visiting Lestrange Manor gave Theseus some semblance of his usual calm. Percival is simultaneously glad and worried with this turn of events. He doesn’t know what brought this up. Theseus hardly exchanged ten phrases with his never-to-be father-in-law, all of them strictly on topic. Maybe the presence of a strong opponent gave him a nudge in the right direction? As any alpha, Theseus would be motivated by a confrontation.

There’s no time to think further, though. The elf disapparates with a quiet “Please, wait, masters, please” and a resounding crack. Percival and Theseus are left just shy of entering. They could, of course, but without an invitation it’ll just provoke a conflict right away. While Percival is sure there’s certainly going to be a conflict, and possibly a trial afterwards due to abuse of force and stature on Theseus’s part, it’ll play to their favor if they try a civilised approach first. Moreover, if Newton is still alive, their appearance ensures he’s going to stay that way, as a hostage if nothing else.

It’s good that Theseus understands.

What’s not good is that he’s needlessly risking his career. Percival as a civilian omega would get off without criminal charges. On the contrary, Theseus is one spell shy of a trip to Azkaban. And he as good as lost his job already. Though the latter is not the end of life. Percival is the living proof, and he’ll readily show it to Theseus if he just lets Percival. Afterall, if this ends even marginally well, Theseus and Newton will need a cover. Leta is dead, but Percival isn’t.

Before he slips into a fantasy of how this could play out, there is a soft rustling of expensive fabrics and light steps. It’s not lord Dubois who comes to greet his guests, but his omega-wife flanked by two elves in identical towels. She’s middle-aged and beautiful still with ashen hair woven into a complex knot. Her face is, too, ashen. She’s terrified.

“Lady Dubois. I need to see your alpha-husband. Or your alpha-child.”

Theseus speaks evenly. She flinches. So, she knows English. Good.

Her eyes are trained on the floor, and there’s no way to see their color or read her thoughts.

“I’m sorry, but they’re not currently present. I could relay a message, if you would?” she offers. The words are spoken with a lulling accent. She is too well-mannered to falter on usual pleasantries even in a state of perpetual terror. Her knuckles are white as snow on her wand. Her words are a blatant lie, and everybody in the room knows it.

There’s a reason lord Dubois sent an omega to deal with them, even though it’s as good as admitting guilt. If an alpha attacks in any way, no-one is going to acquit him after, no matter the circumstances. But Percival is not an alpha, and there’s a reason Theseus didn’t mention his name to the elf. As an omega Percival has no qualms with stunning lady Dubois swiftly and ruthlessly - an outcome lord Dubois would undoubtedly account for otherwise.

Her unconscious body thumps on the plush carpet almost at the same time as Theseus stuns the elves. Percival and Theseus walk inside, wands out. Theseus casts a tracking spell while Percival disarms house protections. There are only a handful of them, and while they could trouble an average wizard, Percival is anything but. He deals with them, clearing the hall of suffocating fog and acidic fumes just in time to see a shimmering trail leading to the depth of the house.

There should be a team of aurors, searching the premises and apprehending the suspects. As it is, it falls to the two of them. They split. Percival goes to the upper floor in search of lord Dubois and his recently presented alpha-son. Theseus follows the trail.

Percival would prefer to come with him even though he very well knows what they’re going to find. But he has to make sure the suspects - criminals! - don’t get away, so he heads upstairs. They’re there, in the study. They’re not expecting him - alphas in conservative countries like France never expect omegas to be dangerous. But as soon as lord Dubois recognises Percival, he freezes.

“I’m sorry it has come to that”, says Percival. “Don’t do anything… unwise.” His wand is trained on Dubois-senior as the more dangerous opponent. His son doesn’t pose a threat. He’s barely fifteen.

And stupid. He assesses the situation and decides to act.

Percival shields himself from a clumsy but powerful attack and rapidly throws two counter-spells, one for each Dubois present. Percival is out of practice. His spells carry much more force than necessary, and the result is unfavorable, to say the least. Dubois-junior flies to the far wall of the study. There is a sickening crack of a skull split open. Dubois-senior doesn’t react to what is most likely his heir’s death. He is lying, limp, near the fireplace with his head inside. He fell face first into the flames. The Dubois obviously tried to re-activate the connection - to get away or call for help. They failed. The hearth is lit with a regular fire, and scorching red and yellow flames are now licking unprotected skin. No more than a couple of seconds pass before Percival drags lord Dubois away from deathly heat. It’s still too late.

Percival checks Dubois-junior’s vitals just in case and sighs. What a mess. At least one of them should’ve been kept alive to testify. Preferably the junior. Now they’ll have to do with lady Dubois and possibly the elves. Not good, but salvageable. Percival sighs again. He’s not looking forward to what comes next, but it needs to be done. So he takes a deep breath, clears his mind as well as he can and goes back to the first floor. He checks lady Dubois and her elves - still out of it - and follows his intuition to the back door. It opens into a neat little garden. The scenery is tooth-rottingly pastoral. The only foreign sight here is Theseus.

He’s standing in front of a devastated flowerbed. There are dozens of broken asphodels, torn out of freshly-worked soil, their roots reaching to the grey sky in blind helplessness. Theseus is looking down, at the bottom of a shallow hole… no, grave.

Theseus doesn’t move. Percival can’t even begin to imagine what thoughts battle in his mind.

Were it any other omega, with no powerful relatives, he’d likely be returned alive and for the most part well. Were Newt clean of a mark, he’d be forcibly bonded, but still alive, and the Dubois’ would be forever safe from his brother’s wrath. It wouldn’t do to harm the family your brother bonded into.

If only…

Percival comes to stand near Theseus and follows his gaze. There is a white bone half-buried under freshly planted asphodels. The fading shimmer of Theseus’s tracking spell envelopes it around the visible edges.

How much time has passed since? Were they late for several hours or just a couple of minutes?

“A reverse transfiguration should be performed.”

Percival says it like he’s not sure what is the origin of this stark-white bone. He can’t bring himself to address it in any more frank manner.

“I don’t want to”, says Theseus, flat, voice completely void of any emotion. “I know that I need to. I will. I… will.”

He visibly braces himself and gently levitates the bone out of the hole and onto soft June grass. He doesn’t perform the reverse transfiguration. Not yet.

“I’m sorry.”

Percival musters all the honesty he can find in himself to put in these words. He really _is_ sorry Newt is dead, and about many more things he’s not going to think of now.

The words are a mistake.

“Without you, I would’ve never found his body. Without you, I would’ve always wondered.” Theseus recites the words mechanically. It’s hard to keep listening.

Percival doesn’t let himself run away.

“Without you this would never have happened”, Theseus finishes, too calm. “All this time, I didn’t want to believe.”

Next thing Percival knows is a blinding, chilling ray of poisonous green light hitting him square in the chest.

Percival dies quickly. His body falls into the shallow grave that didn’t stay empty for long. The asphodels around it are stark-white.

Newton’s death was not Percival’s doing.

He never gets the chance to say that.


End file.
